


It's Time For Me To Fall Apart

by niceshoteagleeye



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Past Seth/Dean, Post Battleground 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niceshoteagleeye/pseuds/niceshoteagleeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds Seth alone and hurt after getting beat up by Brock at Battleground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Time For Me To Fall Apart

“You sure you're gonna be okay bro?” Dean stares down at Roman (who's laid out on a bed in the doc's office), chewing the inside of his cheek with a crease in his brow.

Roman flashes him a thumbs up. “Man, I'll be fine, Bray Wyatt ain't gonna do lasting damage to me. Go grab my stuff and meet me back here.”

Dean finally acquiesces, punching Roman's fist lightly before leaving the room. Roman had waited until after the show ended to go get checked out – there were rumors that 'Taker was going to come back and he didn't want to miss it, so they had watched on one of the monitors backstage while Dean sat there with his arms crossed pretending not to be concerned.

The doc's office is buried back in a corner of the arena and Dean's not too sure how to get back to the locker room. He's taken two or three wrong turns and is starting to get irritated at his inability to find it when he hears a groan coming from somewhere on his left.

Dean freezes. He'd recognize that groan anywhere. He wants to walk away, and he almost manages to muster up the willpower when the sound comes again and it sounds even more pained. ' _Just one look to make sure he isn't dying and then I'm fuckin' outta here._ '

Seth is lying down on top of an equipment trunk, looking like Death came for him and missed him by the tips of its fingers. Which isn't too far off the mark. Bruises dot his chest, the hints of some worse ones on his back creep up from his side, and he's taking long, slow breaths like they cause him pain.

Dean almost turns around and leaves until he remembers that J&J and Kane are all elsewhere with their own Lesnar-sustained injuries and Seth probably has no one. Obviously has no one, given that he's lying here alone. Probably managed to crawl off when the lights went dark and drag himself back here.

An agitated sigh escapes from Dean's mouth. He really, really doesn't want to do this.

He really, really does.

He steps over to the equipment trunk, his shadow falling over Seth's face. Seth doesn't seem to notice. “When are you gonna quit pickin' fights that you know you can't win?”

Seth opens one eye (Dean swears he can see the bruising around it getting worse as he stands there) and when he sees Dean he musters the glariest glare that he can at that moment. It's not all that intimidating. “Go away, Ambrose.” It sounds more defeated than angry.

Dean wants to, still isn't really sure why he's standing here, but what comes out of his mouth is “Nope.” He busies himself examining Seth's injuries while Seth just eyes him warily and continues his labored breathing. “You get checked out by the doc?”

“What do you think?”

Dean sighs – Seth's obsession with Crossfit means that he's healthy as a horse and believes he never gets injured. Usually that's true, but he'd gotten thrown around a lot by a guy the size of a truck and being in shape doesn't stop you from getting concussions. “Come on, I know where the office is.”

“No.” Seth's eyes are closed again and his obstinance is getting frustrating.

“You really think you're in any condition to fuckin' stop me if I wanna drag you over there? Might as well make it easier on yourself and come willingly before I throw you over my shoulder.”

Seth glares at him again and this one has a little more bite than the last one, but with a groan he pushes himself up and turns so that his legs are dangling off of the trunk. Dean gingerly lifts one of Seth's arms to put over his shoulder and helps him to the ground, letting the smaller man rest most of his weight on Dean. Dean grabs Seth's title off of the trunk (' _fuck, things must be really bad if he didn't think to do it_ ') and leads him slowly back to the doc's office where he just came from.

By the time they get there Seth has expended most of his energy and his eyes are closed again. Dean has to all but drag him inside. Roman quirks an eyebrow at him but says nothing as Dean gets Seth onto one of the examination tables. “Check him, see if he has a concussion, the works,” Dean mumbles to the doctor before going to lean against the wall outside the office.

Roman follows him out a minute later, mimicking Dean's position on the opposite wall. “So...” he prompts, jerking his head towards the doorway.

“I don't fuckin' know,” Dean sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “He was just fuckin' lying there alone in a hallway, lookin' like hell. He doesn't have any of his fuckin' Authority buddies around. I... I couldn't just...” he trails off.

Roman nods. He knows how hard it is for Dean, even after all this time. He does a pretty good job of covering up the pain with blustering anger, and Roman is probably one of the only ones who sees through it, if not the only one. He doesn't really think that this is the best idea that Dean's ever had but the look on Dean's face says that there's no way of talking him out of it. “You need any help?”

Dean looks up at him, eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Nah, I'll be fine. Go get some rest, big man. I'm sure he's got a car that can take us back.” Roman nods, stepping forward to pull Dean into a hug. He doesn't say anything but squeezes Dean a little tighter than usual, and Dean gets the message. He watches Roman go before poking his head back into the doc's office. “Well?" 

The doctor looks over at Dean. “Mild concussion, nothing else wrong that isn't obvious by looking at him. Might have to send him to a hospital overnight, he needs to be woken up every two hours and is insisting that he doesn't have anyone to facilitate that.”

“I'll do it,” Dean says immediately, ignoring his inner monologue screaming at him that that's a terrible idea.

“You really don't need to,” Seth's voice comes from the bed.

“Shut the fuck up, you're concussed, you don't know what you're talkin' about.” The doctor raises his eyebrow but doesn't comment, giving Dean some painkillers that Seth can take with strict instructions to take only those and nothing else, before disappearing into the back.

“I need my stuff from the locker room,” Seth mumbles, giving in to what is apparently going to be his fate for the evening. Dean puts Seth's arm around his shoulder again and they shamble off to the locker room that Dean was unable to find earlier. Luckily his shitty sense of direction brought him to Seth instead. Or unluckily, depending how you looked at it. Dean can already feel the familiar knot in his chest that always worms its way in there when he's too close to Seth, and this time he can't punch him to ignore it. He sends a silent apology to Roman for how fucked up he's undoubtedly going to be when this is over. Dean leans Seth up against a wall and lifts up the bag that Seth's been traveling with since they were in The Shield. “Wait, I need a shirt.”

“Always looked better without one.” The comment slips out so easily, so naturally, and their eyes meet for a moment before Dean forces himself to look away and pull out something for Seth to wear. He waits until he doesn't hear the sounds of Seth struggling with the shirt before going back over to him, trying to ignore the awkwardness in the air.

They go into the parking lot at the same slow pace, Seth dictating the way to his rental car. “What about your car?”

“Don't have one. Drove with Roman.”

“Ah. Right.” Dean looks down at Seth out of the corner of his eye and tries to figure out if he imagined the regret in his voice or not. “You gonna stare at me all night or are you gonna get in the car?”

“Just waitin' for you to give me the keys, buttercup.” He tries not to smirk – Seth _hates_ being in the car when Dean's driving, but he doesn't have much of a choice with the concussion. Seth drops the keys into his hands with a mutinous expression and hobbles around the front of the car, throwing himself into the passenger seat like the sulky teenager that he never grew out of being. “Careful there, don't wanna make your head worse.”

“I'm already regretting it,” Seth whines, pressing his palms against his eyes.

“Idiot.” Dean drives more carefully than usual back to the hotel, intimately familiar with how nauseous concussions can make you. He's grateful that it's late enough for everyone to be in bed as he leads Seth into the elevator up to his hotel room, not wanting to have to deal with any of the questions that would be asked by the two of them being seen together.

“This isn't my room,” Seth slurs, his head lolling against Dean's shoulder.

“You're right, it's mine, I wouldn't trust you to be able to tell me which one you're in if I asked you right now." 

He sits Seth down on the bed and pulls off the smaller man's shirt, determined to re-clean the couple of small cuts he noticed earlier. “Oooh, I always did like this part.” Dean freezes and Seth laughs like he's drunk, and Dean swears he'll kill Lesnar just for making him put up with a delirious Seth Rollins.

He wets a washcloth with warm water and brings it back out, sitting on the bed next to Seth. “This might hurt a little.”

“Not like that's the first time you've said that to me.”

Dean closes his eyes and mentally counts to three. ' _Don't take it to heart, doesn't mean anything, he doesn't know what he's sayin'._ ' Seth whines a little bit when Dean cleans the scrapes, and when he's done he tosses the washcloth aside and stands up.

“Wait, I can't sleep in these pants.”

“Then take 'em off yourself.”

Seth struggles with them for a minute and Dean watches, amused, before Seth gives up and pouts up at him. “Please?”

That fucking pout. Dean never could say no to that fucking pout. He chews on his lip and sighs in resignation, helping Seth out of his stupid latex pants (“y'know, it might help if you took your boots off first”) and tossing him a pair of basketball shorts from out of his bag.

Seth pulls them on and climbs under the sheets, rolling over to look up at Dean. “Stay with me?”

“That was kinda the whole point of all of this, yeah.” Dean rolls his eyes, going over to lay down on the couch.

“No, not there, over here. With me.”

Dean stops in his tracks and groans. “Seth...”

“Dean...” Seth mimics him obnoxiously, but when Dean whirls around he just looks exhausted. “Please?”

His huge brown eyes are boring into Dean, and he feels his stupid, traitorous heart melt. ' _You're a fuckin' idiot,_ ' he tells himself as he strips out of his jacket and jeans and slides into bed next to Seth, careful to maintain space between them. “Happy now?" 

“Yeah.” Seth rolls back over so that he's facing away from Dean and Dean exhales in relief. He sets an alarm for two hours from now so he knows when to wake Seth up and grabs a book off of the bedside table. It's quiet for maybe five minutes before Seth speaks up again. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Dean says gruffly. “Though I don't know why you thought it was a good idea to antagonize a guy who's big as a house and already gunnin' for you.”

“That's not what I meant,” comes the soft response. Dean looks over at him, and he's rolled over again and is looking up at Dean with those giant, beautiful eyes. “The Authority. The Shield. The chairs... all of it.”

Dean's chest feels like it's about to crack in half. This isn't fair. “Shut the fuck up Seth, you got no idea what you're saying,” he croaks, returning to his book.

Seth shoves the book aside and suddenly he's a lot closer. “No, _you_ shut the fuck up and listen. I know exactly what I'm saying. I've wanted to say it for a long time.” There's a solid minute where they just stare at each other, Dean in some sort of strange shock state where he doesn't know what to do, and then Seth's grabbing his face and kissing him messily.

Dean's mind is instantly assaulted by a thousand memories that he's tried to keep locked away, of Seth laughing, kissing him, teasing Roman with him, snuggling against him on long car rides, moaning underneath him. And now this, where he's frozen because Seth's caught him completely off guard, and then his brain kicks him in the ass (' _this is everything you've ever wanted for over a year, what the_ fuck _are you doing?_ ') and he gingerly pulls Seth against him, mindful of his injuries, and kisses him back with all of the longing that Dean's kept bottled up since last June.

They break apart when breathing becomes an issue and Seth leans his forehead against Dean's, panting slightly, lips swollen, eyes shining, fucking perfect in every way. And Dean wants so bad to believe that everything is going to be okay, but he's scared, knows that Seth has a propensity for running away, and he still doesn't really trust that this isn't a brain-addled result of the concussion and that come tomorrow morning Seth won't be back to strutting around telling him to go fuck himself. Seth looks at him sadly when Dean pushes him off, and Dean runs his thumb across Seth's bottom lip. “Tell me tomorrow that you still want this,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “Get some sleep and tell me in the morning that this is still how you feel, and I'm on board.”

Seth nods, lying down next to Dean and putting his head on the bigger man's chest. “I will. I promise.”

Dean gently wraps his arm around him, tracing circles on his back and watching Seth gradually fall asleep. Dean still isn't convinced, but damned if he's going to let his uncertainties about tomorrow keep him from holding Seth tonight.


End file.
